


The Arrangement

by ohmyfae



Series: The Arrangement [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A liiiittle bit of Gladio/Prompto content, Ignis loses his composure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Noctis and Ignis navigate romantic shenanigans, royal expectations, and the intersection of the two. Set shortly before they set out.





	1. Unwelcome Advice

**Author's Note:**

> I had half a box of chocolates and a hearty glass of wine this evening. This is the result. There is a high likelihood that this will get smuttier in later chapters.

“I’ll give you a minute to compose yourself.”

Noctis Lucis Caelum lay on his bed in his upper-city apartment, a careless laugh dying in his throat. His legs were wrapped around his friend and advisor’s waist, frozen in the act of attempting to flip the man bodily onto the other side of the bed, and faint red lines streaked down his shoulders and chest. His breath heaved in ragged gasps, and he was becoming vaguely aware of a despairing, keening noise coming from the throat of the man above him. He straightened his legs and let them land with a thump on the mattress.

Cor Leonis, otherwise known as Cor the Immortal, legendary member of the Crownsguard and friend to the King, walked away from the bedroom with slow, measured strides.

“He saw us,” Ignis said, in a soft voice.

“Yes.”

“Cor the Immortal. Saw us.”

“Ignis. I’m aware.”

“I admit, I never thought that I’d die young,” Ignis said. He had the pale, drawn look of a man who had seen the torches and felt the pitchforks but had never considered their use until the mob was at the door. His immediate future spread out before him like an elaborate tapestry.

_“Whatever happened to that Ignis Scientia?” nobles would ask, years from now._

_“The man who was caught fucking the crown prince on the day of his engagement?” their companions would say. “Hanging from his toes from the spire of the Citadel, isn’t he?”_

_“Ha ha,” King Regis would respond, eyes alight with the fires of paternal wrath. “Ha, indeed, ha.”_

There was no chance of regaining their composure. The best Noct and Ignis could do was to get dressed. 

Cor said nothing to them as they entered the foyer. With anyone else, Noct would have levelled a sullen glare and an aloof tone that made even his closest friends want to strangle him. With a member of his father’s inner circle, particularly a loyal soldier and veritable legend like Cor, he couldn’t do more than try not to meet his eyes. Ignis settled for staring at a spot just above Cor’s shoulder, still imagining the repercussions of what had been, until now, a quite enjoyable evening.

Possibly his last evening, if King Regis found out.

“You’re spiraling again,” Noct whispered, as Cor led them down the stairs to the car. “Relax. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Ignis hissed back. “How fine, _your highness?_ Any cell phone reception in the dungeons, you think?”

“Don’t call me your h—“

“I want to see at least a foot of distance between you, boys,” said Cor, from the bottom of the stair. Ignis and Noct jumped apart, and Noct raced down the stairs a few feet ahead of his advisor. Cor gave Ignis a steady, unreadable look, and Ignis felt a flush of blood rise straight to his ears. 

“Ignis,” Cor said, when they reached the car. “Front passenger seat. Prince Noctis, please sit in the back.”

Noct obeyed silently, and Ignis sat on the edge of the passenger seat with all the cheer of a man headed to the gallows. They sat in heavy silence for a while, listening to the roar of traffic on their way to the palace.

At last, Cor sighed. 

“Ignis, please sit back. You’re making me feel like a monster.” Ignis carefully eased himself further down the seat as Cor pinched the bridge of his nose and stared out at the lines of cars before them. “I’m not going to tell King Regis what I saw today. But let me make this clear: Whatever you have to do, you end this soon.”

Noct made a noise of protest in the backseat, and Cor raised a hand.

“I speak from experience, boys. Romantic entanglements within your own unit are a recipe for trouble. There are resentments, distractions on the battlefield—“ He glanced at Noct through the rearview mirror. “Power imbalances. Ignis, you are to be the right hand of the King when Prince Noctis takes the crown. This? Whatever is happening here? It’s impossible to maintain.”

“Hey,” Noct said. “Don’t I get a say?”

“No,” said Cor. “You don’t.”

There was another moment of silence as Cor navigated around a stalled construction vehicle. 

“Cor,” Noct said, in a strangely agreeable tone. “Have you ever met my great-grandmother?”

Cor raised his eyebrows. “I believe the late Queen passed on before I was old enough to join the Crownsguard, your highness.”

“Not the Queen,” Noct said. “My other great-grandmother. Lady Iseult.”

Ignis whipped around in his seat. “Noct, Lady Iseult never married—“

“No, but she is my great-grandmother.” Noct crossed his legs, staring at the back of Cor’s head. “She knits me sweaters for the winter solstice every year.”

Ignis squinted. “The ones with the skull and flower motifs?”

“Classy, right?”

“I believe I see where his highness is trying to go with this,” Cor began.

“Do you?” Noct’s smirk was a diplomatic incident in the making. “I was only talking about my great-grandmother, the lover of the last Queen. Please, let me know where I’m trying to go with this, Cor.”

“That’s enough, your highness. The Queen had years of experience in court. You, may I remind you, are only twenty, and engaged to marry Lady Lunafreya—“

“Who knows.” Noct glanced up at Ignis’ strangled sound of distress. “Ignis, I tell her everything. You know that. And I know you mean well, Cor,” he continued, in a softer tone. “But this isn’t a battlefield. The rules are different.”

“We’ll be careful,” Ignis said. “I assure you, I will not impede the prince in fulfilling his duty to his people.”

Cor smacked the steering wheel with both hands and quickly raised them to the sky in supplication.

“Let it be known that I tried,” he said. “Fine. But one word of advice I do hope you follow: Please, for pity's sake, try to pay attention when someone knocks on the door.”


	2. Meeting the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis meets a member of Noct's extended family and loses his composure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I like to torture Ignis. Poor soul.

The event at the palace was meant to be a small one: A celebration of Noct’s engagement to Lady Lunafreya, reserved for close friends and members of state. Of course, this being Insomnia, this meant that everyone with the slightest bit of political clout was there, straining eagerly to get a look at the reluctant groom-to-be. Noct started to withdraw before he even made it to the front door, his shoulders slouching, gaze going distant, mouth pressed tight as councilmen and dignitaries murmured their congratulations.

Gladio should have been with them, but he was currently being schooled by his father in preparation for their trip to Altissia, leaving him little time for something as trivial—and unthreatening—as an appearance at the palace. Ignis sighed. He would have welcomed Gladio’s presence. Gladio had the ability to smooth even the most ruffled feathers, and after that disastrous encounter with Cor, they could use the backup.

Ignis started at the sudden touch of fingers at his back. Noct, speaking quietly to a young girl passing by with a tray of spun sugar horses, had shifted so that he was flush with his left side, blocking his arm as he moved his hand down the soft fabric of Ignis’ evening jacket. 

“This is hardly appropriate,” Ignis whispered, as the girl with the tray moved on. Noct popped one of the sugar delicacies in his mouth and nudged the back of Ignis’ shin with his foot—a habit picked up from Prompto, no doubt—and lowered his hand just a fraction of an inch. He pressed down, sending a shiver of pleasure through his advisor and earning him a reproving glare. 

“If I have to listen to one more person tell me how pleased I must be to see Luna again,” said Noct, “I’m going to kill someone.”

“Please don’t,” said Ignis. “The servants will be left to clean up the mess.”

“Can’t have that,” Noct agreed. His hand inched dangerously to Ignis’ side, threatening to hook him about the waist. “Let’s go out the tradesman’s entrance and—“ Ignis took that moment to step away, but a high, slightly rasping voice froze both men in their tracks.

“My darling boy!” Noct turned his vacant gaze in the direction of the voice, and Ignis saw Lady Iseult, resplendent in yards of light rose satin, emerge from a crowd of older statesmen. She was an elderly woman with light brown skin and masses of white hair piled high in a bun that had gone out of style some thirty years ago. Her dress was the height of modern fashion, though—when she walked, she gave the impression of a moving pillar of satin and twinkling crystal. The look Noct gave her as she approached was one of real affection, a welcome change from his usual formal scowl.

The lady drifted towards Noct with her hands outstretched, and he stepped forward to clasp them in both of his. He bowed over them with a slight smile. Ignis had seen this exchange many times before, but now he saw it in a new light—Noct, far more respectful than he appeared to the rest of the court, and Lady Iseult, smiling down at him with the pride of an artisan admiring a cut of unpolished marble. The lady released Noct’s hands to press her own thin fingers to either side of his face, turning his chin back and forth.

“No, this won’t do,” she said. “You are growing up too fast for me, my boy. I forbid you to age one hair more until I have finished commissioning your going-away jacket.”

“Iseult,” Noct said, with just the hint of a groan. “I’m twenty years old. I’m not going to do much growing at this point.”

“Not with the way you eat, for certain. You. Young man.” She flicked her fingers at Ignis, who started in surprise. “Does my boy eat anything that isn’t found at the butcher’s?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady Iseult,” Ignis said, with a slight bow. He ignored Noct’s look of betrayal. “I’m afraid he’s quite hopeless in that regard.”

“I’m right here,” Noct said. Lady Iseult patted his cheeks and turned her smile to Ignis.

“We only want the best for you, darling.” She spoke to Noct, but her gaze bore right through Ignis, trapping him in place. “Those who love you always do.”

Ignis struggled to draw breath. 

Noct lowered his voice to a whisper. “Grandmother, please.” His voice was a warning, but a kind one. The lady raised her perfect brows and looked from Noct to Ignis with a carefully crafted moue of surprise.

“Oh my,” she said, in a voice as soft as Noct’s. “Your right hand man? Oh, Noctis, the scandal.”

“You’ve known for years,” Noct said. “Don’t pretend.”

“Don’t ruin my fun, darling.” Lady Iseult held out a hand to Ignis. “Very well. As one courting my precious boy, you have leave to kiss my hand.”

Dazed, Ignis took her hand and bowed over it politely, brushing her knuckles with his lips. Her fingers tightened on his as he straightened, and she pulled him a step closer with far more strength than a woman over ninety should possess.

“Now,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a wickedness that was far, far too familiar to anyone who’d known Noct for long. “Tell me _everything_ about you.”

 

Noct found Ignis sitting alone in the Emerald Drawing Room an hour later. The normally unflappable advisor was slumped on a chaise lounge, arms wrapped around his skinny legs, staring at the wall with the blank look of the truly defeated. He jumped when Noctis sat next to him, but didn’t move to sit with the proper pose of a well-bred courtier.

“Your great-grandmother,” he said, in a low voice, “is a daemon.”

“Is she?” Noct said. “I never noticed.”

“I don’t know how she did it,” Ignis said. “She had me talking about my parents, Noct. My parents! I never talk about them. It isn’t appropriate. One’s private feelings have no place in a civilized conversation, but she… I _cried_ on her, Noct.” He placed a hand on Noct’s shoulder, trying to emphasize the urgency of his plight. “She _held_ me.”

“She has that effect on people,” Noct said, without mercy. Ignis turned back to the wall. 

“I spent my entire life learning how to behave at court,” he said, “and I just cried into the bosom of my lover’s great grandmother.”

Noct nudged Ignis in the back. “Lover, huh?”

“Don’t speak to me,” Ignis moaned. “There’s no telling what I’ll say in this state.”

Ignis could hear the echo of Lady Iseult’s warm chuckle in the way that Noctis laughed. He leaned back against the prince, utterly spent, and didn’t protest when Noct wrapped an arm around him and gently pulled him down. He lay there, his head on Noct’s lap, for some time. He was vaguely aware of people passing by, of cut off conversations and hushed whispers, but he focused instead on the prince’s fingers gently combing through his hair. 

“Prince Noctis.” The voice at Ignis’ side was strikingly, painfully familiar. “What on earth have you done to your advisor-to-be?”

Ignis glanced up and into the eyes of a nightmare. King Regis leaned on his cane not four feet away, gazing down on them both with the slightly unsettled air of a gardener trying to ascertain why a goose has wandered into the swan pool. Ignis stifled a moan and scrambled to his feet, too panicked to remember that he had thrown off his jacket some ten minutes before. He bowed low just as Noct deigned to stand in turn.

“I apologize for my rudeness, Your Majesty,” Ignis said, struggling to regain his usual level manner of speech. “I—“

“He spoke to Lady Iseult, Dad,” said Noct. “For an hour.”

King Regis raised his eyebrows. “You left him alone with her? Noctis.”

“It’s good for him.”

The King turned to Ignis, who wondered how many times in one day he would court death by sheer embarrassment. “I apologize for my son,” the King said. “Lady Iseult is a fine woman, and has left many of us reeling in her wake. It is a good sign that she has taken you into her confidence. I know her to be an excellent judge of character.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ignis said, woodenly. 

“Perhaps you should escort your friend to his quarters,” the King said to Noct. “There are some ordeals that only time can heal. Now, I must pay my respects myself, or she may never forgive me.” He winked at Ignis, who bowed again, and turned back to the waiting crowd.

Noct hooked his arm under Ignis’ elbow, pulling him close. “Come on, old man,” he said. “King’s orders.”

Ignis, too exhausted to do anything else, was only happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to throw King Regis in there at the end, for added suffering.


	3. Afterparty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Noct unwind after a very trying evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some smut for you, for bearing with the social awkwardness of the last two chapters. I keep changing this scene. Someone stop me.

“Gods,” Noctis said, as he and Ignis walked down the empty halls of the residential wing of the palace. “I hate parties.”

Ignis straightened as the prince leaned heavily against his side. “I’m starting to see why, your highness.”

“Fuck’s sake, Ignis, not now.” Noct gripped the back of Ignis’ collar with one hand. “You were calling me Noct ten minutes ago.”

“Which was highly untoward.”

“In company,” Noct said, as though Ignis hadn’t interjected. “In front of everyone.”

“Yes, I was there.” Cor’s warning weighed heavy in Ignis’ mind, as did the unsettling ease with which Lady Iseult had swept him up into her confidences. How were they going to keep this up, if the lines between their private and public lives were already blurring? How soon before they did something to endanger the wedding, the peace treaty on which the wedding hinged? He held Noct’s hip with his right hand, steadying him, and barely noticed when Noct’s hand moved from his collar to cup the back of his head. He leaned back into the touch, unthinking, before he realized with a sudden jerk that he and Noct were practically falling over each other in an open hallway. 

Noct felt him stiffen. “Don’t go formal on me now, Specs.”

Ignis sighed and raised his arm to drape it over Noct’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it, your—”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Ignis’ quarters were impeccably clean, as always. There was some clutter—A pile of books from Gladio that he had yet to read, a blanket tugged halfway down the living room couch—but it was nothing like what Noct could conjure with half an afternoon and a little determination. Noct latched the front door shut behind them, and pulled at Ignis’ shirtfront with both hands. 

“Noct,” Ignis said, as frantic fingers undid the buttons at his chest. “This is hardly—“

“If you say respectable,” Noct said, with the hint of a laugh, “I am going to _scream._ ”

“It’s my understanding that you’ll do that anyways,” Ignis said. Noct stopped halfway through pulling Ignis’ shirt down his shoulders and looked at him blankly. 

“Oh,” he said. “A joke.”

 _That wasn’t quite fair,_ Ignis thought, but his retort was lost as Noctis pressed dry lips to the side of his neck, biting down on the sensitive skin there. 

“I’m so tired,” Noct said, suddenly, his lips against the curve of Ignis’ shoulder.

“Then we needn’t continue.” 

“Not like that,” said the prince. His voice was almost a moan, all need and the hint of desperation. “Tired of… that.” He jerked his head at the door, as though encompassing all of Insomnia with the gesture. “Of—Please gods, Ignis, just. Never call me your highness again. Promise me you—“

“You’re overwrought,” Ignis said, only now realizing it. “Let’s sit down and—“

“Stop,” Noct said, still pressed to his lover’s chest. “I don’t need you to take care of me right now.”

Ignis lowered his raised hands, gripping Noct’s shoulders. “Bed, then.”

“Yes.”

He did end up taking care of him, in the end. Ignis lowered Noct to the bed, stripped him of his uncomfortable eveningwear, and trailed kisses up his jaw to rake teeth just below his ear. He was firm, because that’s what Noct needed, and careful, because there were some habits that even an exhausting engagement party shouldn’t break. At one point Noct, writhing, his inky black hair pressed to the mattress in web-thin strands, dragged his nails over Ignis’ shoulders and ordered him to _Stop treating me like a delicate fucking flower, Ignis,_ and Ignis had laughed and hurried to obey. 

He thrust into the other man slowly, steadily, drawing out his pleasure until Noct cried into the sheets, gripping Ignis in tight fingers to make him push harder. He startled a laugh out of the prince with a sardonic comment about the king’s right hand, and Noct gave himself over to it, laughing even as Ignis gripped Noct’s cock in slick fingers and drew him to the brink with slow, efficient strokes. He laughed still when Ignis bent over him, face flush with desire, and he arched his back to meet him as they both shuddered with release. 

Later still, when Ignis was overcome with the taste of his lover and the tangle of fingers in his hair, it took him some time to find that he had slipped from the bed to his knees on the soft carpet. He pulled back and dragged Noct down with him, and they fell in a pool of silken sheets and bony limbs, cursing and laughing into the darkness of his empty quarters. 

Noct had insisted on cleaning up himself, but there was no saving the sheets, really. 

They ended up draped over each other in the living room, legs twined together in a lazy tangle. Noct was reading one of the daily capitol reports aloud, attempting to mimic the voice of each council member listed, and Ignis was flipping idly through one of Gladio’s poetry books, stopping only to give feedback on Noct’s impressions. 

It was… pleasant. At that moment, in the warmth of Ignis’ rooms, with Noct’s laughter creeping up at the edge of his words, their relationship didn’t seem like an impossible thing. In fact, between himself and Lady Lunafreya, they could almost be the ghost of a good influence. How many others would have let Noct drown in the court and his duty, unable to take a moment to be something other than what the world expected of him? He needed a balance, and Ignis needed... _this._ Whatever this was. 

“Hey.” Ignis looked up to see Noct gazing at him, clear-eyed and knowing. “You doing alright, Specs?”

“I’d tell you if it were otherwise.”

Noct let out a disbelieving snort. “Oh,” he said. “Before I forget. When this is over—When we come back with Luna, you’d better be prepared.”

Ignis felt his stomach drop. “For?”

“Lady Iseult.” Noct flipped a page in the report, looking the picture of innocence. “She likes you. Knowing her, she’ll be inviting you to tea once a week, at least.”

Ignis let out a small groan of despair.

“Come on, Ignis,” said Noct, with all the compassion in his dark, demented heart. “Consorts to the crown have to stick together.”

He ducked before Ignis could think to throw Gladio’s book at his head, and his laugh echoed into the warm, quiet night.


	4. Questionable Poetry and Royal Scandal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis searches for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically fluff with a dash of Gladio. Aw, yeah.

Ignis looked over at Noctis, who was sprawled diagonally across the bed, facedown, one bare leg hooked over Ignis’ waist. His mouth was open against the stripped sheets, and his hair was a mess of day-old hair gel. He looked about as attractive as a bedraggled cat. 

Ignis reached out and brushed his nose with his fingers, and Noct made a loud whimpering noise.

_My love,_ Ignis thought, dryly.

He changed into his day clothes in silence, considering the events of last night as the crown prince snorted elegantly into the bed. Clearly, Ignis and Noct were not the first to be faced with this sort of situation. When answers didn’t appear readily in the present, it was best to look to the precedents of the past. Lady Iseult, perhaps? 

…No. For all that his experience with Lady Iseult had been enlightening, he wasn’t sure he had the dignity to spare for a second round. Surely, Iseult hadn’t been the only mistress or lover in the royal family.

The library may have the answers, but that meant dealing with the librarians’ perceptive questions. There was one other option, of course, even if it was a long shot. Ignis hovered at the door for a moment, squared his shoulders, and slipped out of their quarters and into the hall.

After half an hour of wandering, Ignis arrived at the right door. 

“Ignis.” Gladio peered around the advisor’s shoulder, clearly surprised to find Ignis alone at his chambers. “It’s good to see you.”

“I know you’re busy,” Ignis said. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“Come on in.” Gladio stepped aside, letting Ignis pass. Gladio’s living quarters were small, as his family tended to stay in their manor in the city for most of the year, and had low windows draped with thick, black curtains. Nearly every wall in the main living room was occupied by an enormous bookshelf, and the books there had a haphazard quality to their placement. It was clear that they were not going to stay in any sort of order for long. Ignis tried not to stare as he gently eased out of his walking shoes in the front foyer.

“You caught me at a good time,” Gladio said. “Is the prince with you?”

“He’s back at the—“ Ignis paused. Gladio was looking at him steadily, with the patience of a man who was prepared for the next words out of Ignis’ mouth to be a lie. _Damn. He knew._ “He’s probably still in bed.”

“He would be,” Gladio said. “Tell him he can’t weasel out of sparring practice today, not when we’re in the same building. What brings you here, though? Besides my charming company.”

“Besides that.” Ignis felt awash in relief. Talking to Gladio was like preparing to jump a mountain, only to find that a path had already been cleared. “I was wondering if I could borrow a book.”

“Another one? Did you read the ones I lent you last week?”

Ignis had the decency to look abashed. “Not yet, no. I was thinking of… a different type of book.”

Gladio guided him into the main reading area. “Different how? Don’t tell me you want one of my romance novels. I never got the Contentious Countess series back from Prompto.”

“The Con—“ Ignis shook his head. No. That way lay madness. “I’m thinking something more historical, Gladio. Do you remember that book of poetry you tried to make me read?”

“The one you said you hated?” There was a hint of reproof in Gladio’s voice. Ignis gave him a pitiless look.

“It was terrible. Anyways, it turns out it had been written by one of the old kings. I was wondering if you had any other… records… that they kept. About their lives, perhaps, or…”

“You mean love poetry,” Gladio said, in the same way someone else might say _vermin._ “I have some. Only translations, though. The originals are in the palace archives.” He dug into a pile of seemingly random books and pulled out a slim volume in red leather. “If I guess right, you’ll want this one… and maybe…” He crossed the room, shoved an entire shelf of books aside, and reached back to another stack further in. He emerged with a thick black book embroidered with stars. He pressed both of them into Ignis’ unresisting hands. 

“The black one’s by one of the old Regises,” he said. “The other one was written by a Glaive about four hundred years ago.”

“A Glaive?”

Gladio shrugged. “That’s what it says. Did you have time to stay for tea?”

Ignis smiled thinly. “I expect we’ll have enough when we’re on the road.”

“Don’t remind me.” Gladio stepped forward, and placed a hand on Ignis’ shoulder. His eyes were steely and hard, and the scar over his eye seemed a darker red in the dim light. “You know I’m here if you need anything, Iggy.”

“Of course,” Ignis said. “As am I.”

Noct was thankfully still asleep when Ignis stumbled into his rooms. He fell out of his shoes in the foyer and made his way to the couch, where he lay both books out on the coffee table. The black book first, then. He opened the book at random, letting it fall at the most well-worn page. 

_His luminous member [translator’s note. “penis”] shines in my mind’s eye_

_Who could deny such a warrior endearments? Lo,_

_Tho my empire erodes with the [translator’s note. “illegible” Possibly “penis”]_

_I do hear the bell of his voice ring in my heart._

“Oh gods,” Ignis said. “This _is_ awful.” He flipped ahead, but it seemed that the King’s lover had been a general in a distant war, and their trysts were kept to the battlefield. It ended tragically, with the general lost to a behemoth in a wood, and the King determined to hunt it down. The poetry itself was atrocious, but Ignis never did have the patience for that sort of writing. He set the book down and picked up the red book instead, the one written by a Glaive.

_Being the Chronicles of Mirianne Garath_ was stenciled on the cover in neat script. Garath. Where had Ignis heard of that name before? _No._ The Kingsglaive who had saved the life of one of the old Queens, back when the Niflheim empire was nothing more than a few scattered city states? She was practically a folk hero! Ignis skimmed through the book.

Poetry again. Some of it was much the same as the old King Regis’ account, full of flowery physical descriptions of the beauty of the writer’s lover. Ignis was certain he never wanted to see so many different variations of the word “pleasure” ever again. But some of it read like a shorthand account in a diary, strict and to the point. It seemed that Mirianne, after the events that had led to her heroic status in folktales of Lucian children, had a hard time adjusting to retirement. She hated the petty drama of court, struggled with the basics of diplomacy, and spent a good four pages ranting about how much she hated one courtier in particular. Her best prose always focused on quiet moments, times when she and her Queen had hidden away from the Queen’s jealous husband for a minute alone. 

Ignis marveled at how close some of her feelings were to Noct’s. It was as though through her, and through Iseult, and maybe even through the lost general, a spiritual sort of genetics had passed down the royal family. Ignis sat in stunned silence, wondering if, in centuries to come, some descendant of Noctis and Luna would open a book and find something of themselves in him.

“You’re making that face again.” That was Noct, leaning on the back of the couch. He was unashamedly naked, and his messy hair brushed against Ignis’ cheek as he peered at the book in his hands. “Poetry, Ignis? Never thought you were the type.”

“I’m not,” Ignis said. “It’s Gladio’s.”

Noct grunted and climbed over the back of the couch, settling down in a gangly, languorous sprawl. “There any breakfast?”

“Not until you’re clothed.”

Noct laughed and touched Ignis’ chin with the tips of his fingers. Ignis turned, and Noct kissed him quickly on the lips. “Clothes it is,” he said, leaving Ignis alone on the couch with a book of scandalous poetry in his hands and a blush rising in his cheeks. 

Ignis shook his head at himself, disgusted. “Like a teenager,” he said, and rose to fix a late breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere underneath Prompto's bed, there lies a book titled: 
> 
> The Contentious Countess: A Rogue's Tale 
> 
> "Countess Andromeda Antessa Marissa De Hemerelle has fallen MADLY in love with the IMMORTAL son of a BOORISH family enemy! Andromeda must GIRDLE HER LOINS as she encounters DREAD PIRATES, HOT MERMAIDS, a LUSTY, bespectacled ELF, and the DESTINY of LOVE, all to be reunited with her dear, BODACIOUSLY RIPPED soul mate! Will the Countess prevail? Find out in this SCANDALOUS sequel to "The Contentious Countess: Hot for a Highlander," in stores now!"


	5. Intermission: Prompto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a short break from the adventures of Ignis and Noct, we find out what Prompto has been up to with Gladio's romance novels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked for it. I'm not sorry. I'm never going to be sorry.  
> One day I will write the Contentious Countess series in it's entirety, and my wife will sit up late at night and wonder why she married such an enormous dork who writes trashy 10c novel parodies for fun.

In a dark, empty apartment at the edge of the city, Prompto Argentum had yet to roll out of bed.

He was lying on his back, feet propped up on the wall over his pillow, turning the pages of a well-worn book in his outstretched hands. There was an hour to go before he had to get dressed and head to the tailors for what, in his opinion, was a complex torture: Three hours of sitting still while efficient men and women stuck needles into his clothes and pretended that his new Crownsguard outfit hadn’t actually been finished two weeks ago. Thank the gods he didn’t have a royal position lined up like Gladio or Ignis—The idea of having to endure such fittings for the rest of his life was horrifying.

He frowned as he skipped ahead in his book—Fine, Gladio’s book—to a page he’d dog-eared the night before. 

 

_“Countess!”_

_The Countess Andromeda whirled round in a flurry of thick satin, lace, silks, embroidered tulle, and almost ten yards of cotton. Her ample bosom heaved with passion as she pressed herself, lustily, to the well-muscled man at her back._

_“Oh, Reginald!” she cried. Tears sparkled in her eyes like diamonds, or possibly pools of moonlight, or both. “Our love cannot be! Not when the wicked Sir HelpdeBolt has my darling sister Eliza in his foul clutches!”_

_Reginald’s abs flexed in sympathy. “Do not despair, my proud beauty,” he said. The plaid fabric of his kilt flapped against their legs in the unforgiving wind of the plains. “You are a strong, independent woman, and we will both see your sister rescued.”_

_“Indeed!” Andromeda felt courage spark in her loins as she swooned into Reginald’s perfectly sculpted biceps. “You always know just what to say.”_

 

Prompto closed the book. 

So what did Gladio see in this series? Did he see himself in Reginald, the buff, yet sensitive, immortal Highlander with a dark past? Or did he relate to Andromeda, who was feisty, passionate, and had kicked at least six men in the balls in the first half of the book alone? Was this the kind of thing the future king’s shield was looking for?

Prompto craned his neck to look at himself in the mirror, and idly lifted his shirt up. No abs. Well, that was okay. And fine, his arms were a little spindly, and he definitely didn’t have Andromeda or Reginald’s long, flowing manes of hair…

But he did have something.

Prompto scrambled for his closet and dug through his sparse belongings. Most of his clothes had been lifted from donation bins over the years and cobbled together with hand-stitched thread and a lot of hope. He wasn’t likely to find any billowing cotton shirts that unbuttoned to the waist, or pants that fit too low on his hips, but he did have… there it was. He lifted up a much-patched, well-loved vest out of the pile. It was even black, the royal color, and at the hem he’d attached the remains of a plaid shirt that could no longer fit him.

Almost a kilt, really.

He jumped when the phone rang, and ran to pick it up. He swiped it on without thinking to check who was calling, and felt his throat tighten when Gladio’s voice called out from the other end of the line.

“Hey, Prom.”

“Gladio! Hey.” Prompto quickly dropped the vest to the floor. “H-how you doing?”

“…Fine? Look, I’m calling to remind you of the appointment today. It’s the last one, so you have to be there.”

“Do I have to?” Prompto collapsed on the bed, shoving Gladio’s book aside. Gladio made a soft rumbling noise in the back of his throat, and Prompto tried very, very hard to steady his breathing. Gods, he had to get this under control before they hit the road.

“Noct’ll try to slip out of it if you aren’t there,” Gladio said. “Want me to send Jared around to pick you up?”

“Nah, dude, I’ll walk. You know, it’s a thing commoners do, we put one foot in front of the other and—“

“Smartass. See you, then.”

“Right.” Prompto sat the phone down at his side and stared up at the ceiling. What would Andromeda do in this situation? Cry, probably, or kick someone in the balls. Neither of those options seemed like a good idea at the moment. Prompto smacked his face with both hands and closed his eyes.

“You can do this, Prompto,” he said. “Grab the behemoth by the horns. The Gladio by the biceps.”

“Gladio by the what, now?” said a tinny voice at his side.

Slowly, moving through a rictus of horror, Prompto turned to his phone. The green call light pulsed with Gladio’s name, humming with faint static. Suppressing a cry of true terror, Prompto scrambled for the phone.


	6. Late night, early morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Noct work some things out, and it all comes full circle.

The remaining hours of the afternoon went by quite uneventfully. Ignis made his rounds at the council clerks’ offices, picking up last minute missives and intelligence briefings. Noct was late to two appointments with Crownsguard officials in their attempts to debrief him before the trip. They ate a late lunch at a stall with a menu suspiciously free of anything green, and went to the last fittings for their Crownsguard uniforms with Prompto and Gladio.

The fitting didn’t go entirely without incident, though.

They all had to wait to be fitted and sized for a number of different articles of clothing, and as a result, were constantly in various stages of undress. At one point, Prompto only wore his underclothes, Crownsguard boots, and hilariously, his shoulder-piece, while Gladio had opted to take off his shirt entirely. They made an amusing picture together, though Prompto looked just a little uncomfortable. 

Finally, Gladio coughed, and fixed Prompto with a steady look.

“Don’t do it,” Prompto said, suddenly. Ignis raised his eyebrows and leaned forward. Noct’s blonde friend was flushed scarlet, staring at Gladio with a determined, if somewhat helpless, glare. His freckles stood out in bright brown specks on his mottled cheeks.

Gladio winked and leaned in, flexing his right arm. 

“Don’t worry,” Gladio said, nonsensically. “You know what they say, Prompto. Grab the Gl—“

Prompto shoved his hands in Gladio’s face. Ignis watched them in confusion, wondering if he’d missed something crucial in the past three minutes. He turned to Noct, who was sitting off to the side with a fist to his mouth, trembling with suppressed laughter, and decided that it was probably best to leave well enough alone.

\---

Ignis stayed in Noct’s apartment the night before they were to set out of the city, but what had started out as a pleasant evening alone quickly turned sour as Noct refused to breach the subject of how, if at all, they were going to address the future after Altissia.

“She’ll love you,” Noct had said, when Ignis brought up the wedding for the third time. “If she doesn’t have a problem now, she won’t have a problem later.”

“Things change when you’re married, Noct,” Ignis reminded him. “I know you trust Lady Lunafreya, but—“

“But nothing, Ignis. We’ve talked to each other about it. Written. Whatever. I know her, she isn’t about to—“

“It isn’t just Luna. I know you have feelings for her. Anyone can see that.” 

Noct had stared at Ignis then, caught in the act of turning from the couch. His hands clenched on the polished wood of the armrest.

“Do you love her, Noct?” Ignis had asked, again.

“Not the same way,” Noct had said, and Ignis had been unable to maintain his control at that. He could feel his expression change, even as he tried to will it not to, and saw it reflected in the droop of Noctis’ shoulders.

And now here they were, sitting on opposite ends of the bed, playing the time-honored _I’m Not Angry About This, You Are_ game. Ignis sighed, and Noct shot him a glare.

“What?” Ignis asked.

“I know that sound.”

Ignis rolled his eyes, and Noct made a frustrated noise. He flung himself off the bed, but lost his footing in the blanket and ended up hopping, still furious, halfway to the door. 

“Turn off the kitchen light while you’re up,” Ignis said, idly. Noct whipped around, gestured expansively with both hands as though invoking wrath from on high, and stalked off into the other room.

And immediately came back. Ignis raised his eyebrows as Noct climbed onto the bed.

“Do you know what your problem is, Ignis?” he asked. Ignis carefully took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Your problem,” Noct said, “is that you overthink everything.”

“Really.”

“And!” Noct edged forward, holding onto Ignis’ legs with both hands. “You never get off my case. About anything!”

“Sometimes,” Ignis said, meaningly, “I feel that I am the epitome of restraint in that regard.”

“Yes! Because you are!” Noct flopped onto his side. “Ignis! The king of restraint! The king of, of analysis!”

“Noctis, I would be a poor advisor if I—“ 

“You never _let go_ of things. You never let things happen.”

“When it involves the question of your keeping a lover when you are married to a woman like Lady Lunafreya, I doubt _letting things happen_ is a wise—“

“Let’s just _try_ it.” Noct rolled until he lay against Ignis’ legs. “Please. For once in your life, Specs, let yourself be a… a dumbass. With _me._ Be a dumbass with me.”

“That has to be the strangest proposal I’ve heard in my life,” Ignis said.

“If that’s how you want it,” Noct said. He clambered over Ignis, straddling his waist, and placed his hands on his advisor’s shoulders. His hair hung down about his eyes, making them go dark and expressionless. “Will you, Ignis Scientia—“

“You’re actually doing this.”

“Will you swear, by the Six, that you will _try_ to be a dumbass? Just this once? Forever?” Noct leaned down, pushing Ignis into the pillows. 

Ignis blinked. He thought of the old kings and queens, and the string of lovers they left behind. Lady Iseult, enjoying her unofficial status, traumatizing her great-grandchildren’s partners. Luna, the confusing, unreadable Oracle who had as much of a say in the upcoming wedding as Noctis. And Noct, staring down at him, lips tight in apprehension, fingers curling on Ignis’ shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “For you.”

“Good.” Noct kissed him, gently, and then rolled over on his back. “Gods, Ignis. You are exhausting.”

Ignis turned to stare at the prince in outrage, only to find Noct had already rolled himself into the blankets.

 _The king of restraint indeed,_ he thought, and leaned over to turn off the light.

\---

The next morning was, to Noct’s great disapproval, an early one. Ignis had arranged for Cor to come in and pick them up in the Regalia around noon, and had to summarily wheedle and bribe Noct into taking a shower and _try_ to look presentable.

“Why?” Noct asked, when Ignis pushed him bodily into the shower stall. “We’re just meeting my dad.”

“As King, in the throne room. I refuse to let you attend wearing my undershirt. I’ll be executed for crimes against the Crown.”

“The way you manhandle me? For sure.”

Ignis sighed and headed into the living room. 

Noct took a very long time in the shower, which gave Ignis the freedom to go through the apartment, discreetly picking up the clutter that had miraculously appeared in the past eight hours. Half of the latest intelligence briefings hadn’t been properly disposed of, and there was something… foul… under the television. After a moment, Ignis decided that he was going to leave it alone. Let Noctis come back to find the apartment swarming with mutated insects. It would do him good. 

He was just about to air out the curtains when he felt a warm, somewhat damp hand on his back. He turned. Noct, still only half dry from the shower, shifted up on his toes to kiss him, lingering for a moment before pulling away. 

“Noct,” Ignis said, touching his chin. “You should get dressed.”

“Really,” Noctis said. “I was about to say the opposite.” He dropped to his knees and slowly began to unbutton the front of Ignis’ trousers.

“We don’t have time,” Ignis said, without feeling.

“Sure, we do.” Noct lifted Ignis’ shirt, kissing the soft skin just below his navel. “Who knows when we’ll sleep in an actual room to ourselves again.”

Ignis had to admit that the prince had a point. Wordlessly, he ran his hands through Noct’s flat, damp hair, and allowed himself to be relieved of his entirely unnecessary clothing. 

Noct’s current mood was nothing if not infectious. He smiled and laughed his way through what turned out to be the most frustrating head he’d given in his life, sitting back every now and then to comment on Ignis’ expression, his movements, the state of his glasses. Finally, Ignis knelt down with him, only to be gently lowered to the floor and brought to release twice. Noct laughed after, not unkindly, and kissed him as he panted for breath on the carpet. 

They’d moved to the unused windowseat when Ignis, searching for a comfortable handhold, accidentally rattled the windowpane so loudly that they both jumped. Noct ran a hand up Ignis’ back, making a sarcastic comment about the earth moving, when there came a soft thump near the front hallway. 

“Oh,” said Noct, going still.

“Noct,” Ignis said, slightly dizzied with pleasure, “If you would be so kind as to _continue,_ I believe we would all be much…” He trailed off. Noct had placed both hands on his hips as he pushed away, and something in his silence unsettled him. He turned—

Just in time to see Cor Leonis stride down the hall.

Cor took in the sight of them for a second—Noct, his hands on Ignis’ naked back. Ignis, half twisted round, one knee on the windowseat, fingers slipping loose from the window frame. Their clothes, abandoned next to a dying potted plant.

“Good morning, Cor,” Noct said, in a cheerful drawl. “Have you ever heard of the concept of a cell phone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Good old Cor. He may never recover.
> 
> This has been SUCH a fun fic to write. Thank you to all of y'all for your support and truly hilarious comments. I DO have a sequel of sorts in the works, a sort of post chapter 9/10 AU where Luna and Ignis sort of... share Noct. It's a little angstier than this one (but not in a romantic sense, more for plot reasons), so I'm not sure how it'd go over. But it might be fun?


End file.
